by Lucy Monroe
The one on his right was in honor of the grandfather who had died ten years past, bequeathing Bryant both his name and his sword. Her brows drew together in confusion as she noted a second thin braid beside the first. It had not been there before. The ends of this braid were wrapped with bits of string.
If her eyes were not deceiving her, and considering her superior eagle sight, that was highly unlikely, those bits of string were the exact shades of green and brown as her hazel eyes.
She stared into eyes dancing with humor and something else she refused to name. The man near took her breath away.
And that had never happened before.
Not in this physical world where the nearness of strangers was more likely to send her into a fit of panic than passion.
“We have not met.” He put his hand out to take hers, his storm-cloud gaze telling a very different story. “I am Bryant of the Balmoral.”
Her father knocked the hand away with his walking stick before Una could even think to take it. “Do you know no better than to proceed without a proper introduction?”
“Thank you so much for offering, Fionn.” Bryant’s tone could only be described as smug.
The man liked besting others in cleverness. She’d noted that even in the spirit plane. She’d found it charming there; here in the flesh, it was more likely to cause her father to erupt in an apoplectic fit.
Sure enough, Fionn’s face turned red with fury as his eyes snapped a promise of retribution.
“Bryant, may I introduce my daughter, Una?” Moving slightly so she stood between Una and Bryant, Mòrag jumped in to fill the gap, as she had so many times over the years with Una’s father’s less-than-polite ways. “Una, this is one of the Faol soldiers our prince has welcomed to live among our people.”
Even if Una had not been meeting the man these past weeks while they both slept, she had seen him arrive in the village. She understood her mother’s move for what it was, an attempt to protect Una from being forced to take the man’s hand in greeting.
Oblivious to Mòrag’s machinations, Bryant simply shifted so that he was once again standing far too close to Una. He put his now red-marked hand out a second time in offering, not even glancing at her father to see if the other man would object this time, too.
Una saw her mother’s telltale wince turn to a look of astonishment as Una’s hand came forward of its own volition to be swallowed in the large, masculine paw.
Though she trembled at a wolf’s touch, she allowed it, not yanking her hand back with unseemly haste, not pulling away from his clasp at all.
His grey eyes narrowed, his expression turning concerned as he inhaled the scent of her fear. He would learn only too quickly that, unlike him, Una was far different in the physical realm than the spirit one.
He did not immediately release her, and contrary to her past experiences, her fear dissipated rather than grew. It did not leave her completely. That would have taken a miracle, and she’d learned she was fresh out of those that fateful day five years past.
But Una felt no urge to run and that was miracle enough, she supposed. Bryant’s hand was warm and strong, just like in the spirit plane. He did not crush her fingers, holding her hand as if she was as delicate as a summer bird.
“I’m an eagle,” she blurted out.
His eyes widened. “That is good to know.”
Though she’d told him her bird form in the spirit plane. He’d told her he wanted to see it, but she’d refused to shift. She emphatically did not want to see his wolf. Not even on the spirit plane.
When she made no reply, Bryant added, “I understood eagles are uncommon among the Éan.”
She’d told him that as well. She hadn’t told him that she was not a very good eagle.
“We are, the Faol have killed too many of us off.” Though his words were anything but, Una’s father’s tone was almost friendly. “And I’ll thank ye to release my daughter’s hand now.”
Una gasped. Whether from the cessation of contact with the only man who had ever kissed her, or her parent’s unexpected reaction to Bryant, she did not know.
“She’s quite charming,” Bryant said to her mother. “You must be very proud of her.”
Mòrag smiled and nodded. “She is. It’s a surprise to us both that our daughter is yet unmated at nineteen.”
Heat climbed into Una’s cheeks as her father made a sound of disgust, apparently as unimpressed with her mother’s impossible attempts at matchmaking as Una herself.
“The Chrechte among our clan often mate at a later age than humans marry. It’s a matter of finding the bond intended by fate to be ours, isn’t it?” Bryant asked with all appearance of sincerity.
Were sacred bonds so common among the Faol then? She’d only ever known of a handful of sacred matings in her life. Éan were encouraged to mate young without consideration to the hope of finding their one true mate. Without offspring, their people would die off.
And there were few enough babies born among their people as it was.
“You believe you will find your sacred mate?” Una asked, still somewhat surprised by her temerity in voluntarily talking to the wolf, no matter their nocturnal visits.
This was not a topic they had spoken about between pleasure-inducing kisses. And this was not the safety of that place out of time.
“I do. Wherever she may be.” The look Bryant gave Una was disturbing in its intensity. “Our laird found his in an Englishwoman. Your own princess is mated to the Faol laird of the Donegals.”
“She betrayed her people,” Fionn stated with categorical certainty.
Both Una and her mother gasped. Prince Eirik would be livid if he overheard such talk. He might even sanction Fionn, but were Anya Gra to hear such a sentiment expressed, the celi di might well curse him and his family, refusing them access to the sacred stone.
“You must not say such things,” Mòrag said in a tone that said Una’s father was headed for the deepest, coldest part of the loch.
“Hmmph.” Fionn had the grace to at least look marginally chagrined.
“Do you believe Sabrine claiming her true mate was a betrayal of your people?” Bryant asked Una, as if it was her opinion that mattered, not her father’s.
“The ancient teachings of the Chrechte make it clear that a sacred mating bond should be placed above all else.” Una swallowed at the sulfuric glare from her father, but she would not recall her words.
She’d worked so hard not to disappoint him further since the debacle five years ago, but in this, her father was very, very wrong.
“You must forgive Fionn.” Una’s mother had drawn herself away from her husband in a way that said she wasn’t sure she had done so though. “But sacred mates are so rare among our people we forget their importance in the face of simple survival.”
Bryant nodded his understanding. “You mate to procreate rather than enjoy the sacred bond. Many among the Faol believe they must do the same.”
“Which is not to say that our matings are of no importance,” Mòrag stated firmly.
“You and Fionn …” Bryant prompted.
“We are not sacred mates, but we were still blessed with a child. For that, I will always be grateful.” Her mother gave Una a look filled with warmth and love.
“Every child is a gift,” Bryant said with that way he had, like he was certain of the truths in his world, and anyone who might disagree could be made to see the error of his or her ways. “My own parents are sacred mates.”
“Did they have many children then?” Mòrag asked wistfully.
“Four that lived out of childhood.”
“That is a blessing indeed.”
“So my father says. Mum isn’t so sure when we are tracking dirt on her recently cleaned floors with our big muddy feet.”
“You are all male then?”
“Oh, nay. I have an older brother and two younger sisters, both hellions truth be told, and more trouble by far than either of us boys, to hear my mother tell it.
Though one has married and is her husband’s headache now. Though she’s given us my precious niece, who has the entire family trained to her bidding.”
Una found a smile coming to her face. “How old is the wee one?”
“Two summers and full of energy beyond us all.” Bryant’s eyes glowed when he spoke of his family.
“You must miss them terribly.”
“Aye.”
“And yet you have made your home here.” It was beyond her understanding.
“The repatriation of the Éan will not come without sacrifice. It seems only fair those begin with the Faol, considering the cost your people have already paid over the years.”
“Repatriation—” Fionn began in a tone that said they were all in for a rant of extraordinary proportions.
Mòrag determinedly interrupted without a single blush. “Una cares for the children of our tribe, you know.”
“That is a commendable contribution to make to your clan.”
“I should be a warrior,” Una admitted with the shame she always felt. “I am an eagle.”
“You are perfect as you are,” her mother staunchly refuted.
But her father remained silent, his expression showing neither approval nor disdain for his only offspring. He was still clearly angry over the concept of the Éan and Faol reuniting.
“Our women are not trained in warfare,” Bryant mused. “If they were, I’m not sure our laird would not be a woman.”
Mòrag and Una laughed softly at what was clearly meant to be a joke, but her father frowned. “A woman should always be trained to protect herself.”
“On that we agree. Balmoral women are taught to hunt small game and most fathers teach their daughters simple defense, but life among the clans is different than it is for you here in the forest.”
“Different,” her father derided. “That’s one word for it.”
Bryant didn’t look in the least offended, just smiled slightly. “I know you think little of being civilized and I must admit that the Balmoral are far less so than other clans.”
“Hmmph.” Her father gave his favorite answer when he had nothing to add.
“Do you never come down to the village?” Bryant asked Una. “I have not seen you there.”
The slight emphasis he gave to the word there appeared unnoticed by her parents, but Una felt it deep inside. They shared a secret, an intimacy easily equal to that of their kisses.
“I usually come down daily.” But she’d been afraid to come down with the wolves there.
Besides, her father had forbidden her.
Fionn frowned. “She doesn’t need to be down in the village with strange soldiers running amok.”
“We are hardly running amok and surely after a month, not nearly so strange to you any longer?”
“You’re a wolf. You’ll always be strange,” her father pronounced, but without his usual heat.
“I’ve missed my daily visits with my daughter,” her mother said with a plaintive look at first Fionn and then Una.
Guilt suffused Una. She’d kept away from her mother because of her own fear, both of the wolves and of upsetting her father when she knew she’d given up all right to do so.
And deep inside, where she never let others see, she had been beyond terrified she would meet Bryant only to discover her sojourns on the spirit plane had all been in her imagination.
“I will come to see you tomorrow,” Una promised her mother.
Mòrag smiled, patting her arm. “I would like that.”
“Hmmph.” Her father contributed, but it was not a denial.
Una let a tremulous smile curve her lips.
“Perhaps I will see you as well,” Bryant said.
“Why would you want to?” Una blurted out before thinking how the words might sound.
But Bryant didn’t laugh, or even smile. His masculine countenance had turned entirely serious. “I believe you know.”
“I …” But she did not know what to say.
She did not want to tell her parents about the trips to the Chrechte sacred place. They would worry. Besides, had he not realized yet, she was not the same person here as she was there?
“What are you talking about?” her father demanded.
“In this case, I believe the particulars are between your daughter and me.” Bryant’s expression showed no chance of being moved.
“Nonsense. She is mine to protect and care for.”
“Until she is mated.”
“She’s not mated yet,” her father said in a tone Una had never heard from him before.
She stared at him, but he was busy glaring at Bryant.
“Una?” her father prompted without looking away from the other man.
“I don’t know.” The lie tasted sour on her tongue, but the truth would burn worse.
Bryant’s frown of disappointment made Una’s stomach twist.
She didn’t lie. Not anymore. Not so she could sneak out of the safety of their forest, nor for any other reason. And now this man, who knew her better than even her own parents, believed she was a cowardly deceiver.
But he could not possibly understand. She owed her parents not to cause them any further worry or distress. They could not know her Chrechte nature had drawn her into the spirit world, for she knew not what.
“I don’t know what you are talking about,” she reiterated stubbornly, ignoring the stain the words left behind on her soul.
“You’ll figure it out,” Bryant promised before taking his leave of her parents, with more polish than the “less civilized” Balmoral should be able to accomplish.
SIX
Bryant watched Fionn’s hut surreptitiously while he and Donnach dressed their kill from their early morning hunt.
Una had said she would come to visit her mother today, but he didn’t know when that might be. They had not met on the dream plane the night before.
She called it the spiritual plane, was convinced they were not sharing a dream. He hadn’t been sure it wasn’t merely his own nighttime imaginings right up until he’d met her at the feast the night before.
He’d had to focus hard to hide his shock, first at her appearance beside the irascible Fionn, and then at the difference in her manner from when he’d met her while sleeping.
Donnach nudged Bryant’s shoulder. “Stop staring over there. I told you that old man is not going to warm up to us.”
“You’re wrong. He was almost civil to me last night.” Though Fionn had made his disapproval of Bryant’s appreciation for his daughter more than obvious.
“Well, he’s not going to be civil if he catches you spying on his hut. Why are you watching it so closely anyway?”
“I met his daughter last night.”
“He has a daughter?” Donnach asked, like the idea was too farfetched for belief.
“Aye. She’s lovely, with her mother’s oval face and pretty hazel eyes. Her hair is a soft brown, different from most among the Éan, lighter than most wolves as well, but not blond.” Just like the woman in his dreams, which apparently were not simple dreams at all. “It looks like water falling down her back.”
Heat climbed up his neck as Bryant realized how he must sound to the other warrior.
Donnach looked at him askance. “You find her appealing?”
“Aye.” Bryant frowned.
What was so unusual about that? Many men would find Una attractive, but Bryant didn’t say so. He was too busy trying to control his wolf, which was not at all happy at the idea that other males might look with favor upon his eagle.
Donnach was frowning, too. “No.”
“Yes.”
“You cannot.”
“I can. I do.” What was Donnach’s problem?
Even if Bryant had a choice, and he did not (his wolf growled mate into his mind), he saw no reason to deny the attraction he felt for a woman so timid in person and so bold in their shared dreams.
Donnach shook his head. “This is not good.”
“
What do you mean? Mating between the Faol and the Éan will bring about our joining together as brethren easier.”
“Is that what this is about? You’ve decided to mate with the Éan to help our cause?” His fellow Balmoral soldier sounded less than impressed by the idea.
Bryant, on the other hand, thought it had great merit, even if his wolf were not so drawn to the woman.
He shrugged his broad shoulders. “The heart goes where it will.”
“Now I know you’ve lost your mind. What warrior says something like that?”
Bryant laughed, not offended in the least. “My father.”
“Your father found his true mate when he was barely into his manhood. I suppose he cannot help himself,” Donnach grudgingly admitted.
“Aye.”
“Well, he’s not normal. He calls your mother honey-sweet and the whole clan knows that woman has a tongue that could strip the bark from the trees.”
“My mother is sweet.” In her own way.
“She’s a loving termagant.” Donnach should know; he’d spent enough time in their home growing up, Bryant’s mother called him her third son.
“That she is,” Bryant agreed with pride.
“No wonder you don’t find Fionn off-putting. You’ve had a lifetime’s experience on the sharp edge of your mother’s tongue.”
Bryant smacked his friend’s shoulder, but there was no heat in it. He didn’t bother arguing his mother’s kind nature. Donnach knew she masked a soft heart behind sharp words and he didn’t mean any offense.
And it was true. Bryant didn’t find the old man, Fionn, particularly surly. He was a crabby old man who clearly loved his wife, true mate or not, and his one and only offspring.
“They’re eagles,” he told Donnach.
“Huh. I wonder if they know Lais.”
“I asked the healer about that yestereve. He said Una avoids him like a swarm of wasps and neither of her parents have made much effort to make his acquaintance.”
“That is odd, is it not?”
“I thought so.”
